Intermission

There is no mistaking the sound of rain on a tin roof. You never have to ask, 

"What's that sound?" It's a familiar tune.
It's a song that says slow down.
Wait.
Breathe.
It's like an unscheduled intermission in life.

This morning the rain is like a lullaby. It rocks me in a cradle of damp greenness. It hums with each pit pat on the roof. How can it be that my morning coffee tastes hotter and richer while listening to the distant thunder?

And why does the rain bring with it such an unmistakable fragrance? It smells like rain. Nothing else can say that. 

Nothing.

Rain slows down the day. Breeds thoughts and dreams like toadstools that pop up without warning. It gives you time to reflect, sort, and take control. 

If only for a little while...

It is still dark here, but I can see the outline of trees- a deep evergreen knot of forest beyond the yard. I never fail to realize how lucky I am to have such a view. To wake up in a playground of pine and oak ...and cedars that whistle in the wind.

It's days like this that make me want to paint. Splash some color here and there with total abandon. To embroider blue thread into the shape of a bird. To draw, color, paste and ponder what has no time on un-rainy days. 

The rain washes away all the person I am not. It reveals my bone. It sees me for who I am.

I suddenly grow aware that the music on the roof slows to a sprinkle, the clouds begin to fade, the light of a pale sky appears beyond the garden. Responsibility and errands come with the sunshine.

So I sip my coffee, say my prayers, and enjoy the last luxurious song of the rain...